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Kemi Adetiba’s To Kill A Monkey is a hard-hitting narrative that, when dissected through the lens of Feminist Film Theory, reveals itself as a searing critique of patriarchy, gender-based trauma, and the commodification of women in a morally bankrupt society.
At the surface, the story follows Efe (William Benson), a man whose descent into crime is shaped not simply by personal weakness but by a toxic socio-economic system that burdens men with impossible expectations. His family’s insistence on a “befitting burial” for his late mother, despite his poverty, becomes a metaphor for the way society weaponizes tradition and masculinity.
But the real emotional weight of the series is carried by the women—those who are caught, bruised, or broken by their association with the film’s dominant male figures. These include Oboz (Bucci Franklin), the drug-fueled husband to Idia (Lillian Afegbai); Efe himself, whose wife Nosa (Stella Damasus) is left gasping under the pressure of economic and emotional neglect; and Teacher (Chidi Mokeme), a predatory street boss who controls the vulnerable Amanda Sparkles (Sunshine Rosman).
Amanda’s story is one of the most disturbing. Groomed and sexually exploited from the age of 15 under the guise of family obligation, her journey into sex work is less a moral decline and more a chilling commentary on how young girls are forced to survive in a world that commodifies their existence before they’ve even reached adulthood. Her eventual rise as a high-end escort is a symbolic—but ultimately futile—grasp at autonomy in a system rigged against her.
Ivie (Teniola Aladese), Efe’s daughter, mirrors Amanda’s fate. Her relationship with Oboz, her father’s partner-in-crime, is a clear symptom of unhealed trauma and lack of agency. Her pregnancy is not a moment of hope but a tragic symbol of generational pain—one that echoes her mother’s own experience and hints at a future marred by the same cycles of abuse, despite the large sum of money left to her in a twisted act of compensation.
In a surprising but important subversion, the series also explores male vulnerability. Efe himself is sexually exploited by his boss, Madam Adunni (Constance Owoyomi), complicating the gendered understanding of abuse. Feminist theory calls for the dismantling of binaries, and this scene contributes to that conversation by showing that victimhood can transcend gender.
Nosa (Stella Damasus), Efe’s wife, emerges as a layered and misunderstood character. While the film briefly paints her in a negative light during an infidelity subplot, a deeper reading frames her as a woman overwhelmed by poverty, grief, and unmet emotional needs. Her pain is silent but raw—especially in the scene where Ivie is rescued and brought home, adding more pressure to a household already stretched thin.
Even minor characters like Mrs. Ejiofor, a hospital worker who unintentionally launders money, reveal how deeply the rot of survival has affected women. Her joy at the mysterious money isn’t greed—it’s desperation, and a reflection of how women often serve as the uncredited economic backbone of their families, forced to navigate ethical grey areas.
However, the series is not without its flaws. The omniscient narration at times undercuts the female characters’ autonomy, spoon-feeding conclusions instead of letting their silence or ambiguity speak volumes. Nonetheless, Kemi Adetiba’s storytelling—spread across eight gripping episodes—refuses to flinch. Her vision casts a relentless light on a society where women are constantly negotiating between survival and dignity.
To Kill A Monkey doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, but it forces the viewer to ask urgent questions—about power, gender, pain, and survival.
Verdict: 7/10 — A dark, unsettling portrait of the human condition, with women’s trauma and resilience at its core.
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